


hence the balloons

by iron_spider_suit



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ableism, Autistic Peter Parker, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Domestic, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark is Good With Kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24068554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iron_spider_suit/pseuds/iron_spider_suit
Summary: “What does that mean? Au-tis-tic,” Morgan asked, stumbling over the pronunciation, looking from one adult to the other.-Morgan’s birthday party leads to some important and long delayed conversations.
Relationships: May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 43
Kudos: 847





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another story about autistic Peter Parker.
> 
> Remember autism is a spectrum.

Morgan handed him the invitation in person, straight off the press: the green marker ink—her current favorite—had smudged on his thumb despite his best efforts, as her childish writing used up every bit of space on the card. 

Peter agreed to go on the spot, wincing when he talked over Pepper as she tried to fill him in on the details of date, time, and location. It made no difference to him, however—he was holding onto Morgan inviting him— _personally_ —to her seventh birthday party as a sign that their relationship was improving, and he wasn’t going to risk upsetting that progress. 

It wasn’t that they didn’t get along—their good moments were great, in fact: cutting out paper chains to decorate for Christmas, and goofing around in the snow; working on puzzles and Disney activity books together after dinner...

But other times, Peter was confident Morgan didn’t like him at all. She loved when he did impressions for her, but made fun of him when she caught him thinking out loud or humming to himself—which was hurtful, even though he tried to convince himself it was normal kid behavior. She also whined about having to repeat herself all the time—it wasn’t _all_ the time, but Peter had to admit it wasn’t infrequent, as she talked loudly and with exaggerated gestures that made it difficult for him to focus on what she was actually saying, and fired out questions without rhyme or reason, giving him no time to process or work out what she wanted from him. 

Morgan’s—age appropriate—habit of making up stories, or embellishing events, had been the source of more than one misunderstanding between them too. Confused and lost, Peter would end up saying what inevitably turned out to be the wrong thing in response, and she would get annoyed with him.

It was rather reassuring that despite all that, she still wanted him at her birthday party. 

Smiling, Pepper waved away his apology for interrupting her. “Alright. I just want you to know it’s OK if it turns out you’re busy on that day, or even if you just don’t feel up to it.”

Peter hesitated, scratching at the worn edges of a sticker Morgan seemed to have removed from somewhere to add to the card. The thought hit him that maybe Pepper didn’t want him to come, but didn’t want to tell him not to come because that would be rude. 

Learning that people sometimes did that—hope and expect to be turned down on their offer—had been confusing, and the added layer of complexity to navigate in his interactions with others, alarming. 

It had hurt too. Although May had assured him that she still wanted to spend time with him, and it was only that she needed some time to herself—which he could understand well.

Peter searched Pepper’s face for an answer, but her mild, amiable expression gave nothing away. Nonetheless, unable to come up with a reason she might not want him at the party, he decided she was simply being nice and trying to give him an out if he needed one. That seemed like Pepper, who was always very thoughtful. 

“I’m not busy,” he said truthfully. “I want to come.” 

Pepper inclined her head, still smiling. “Great then. We’ll love to have you, darling.”

“What are you going to get me?” Morgan demanded, abandoning her markers in favor of climbing on Peter’s lap. 

“What do you want?” Peter asked, flashing her a teasing grin before focusing on the big red button on her cardigan, feeling out the bumps of the thread over the four holes.

“A pony,” she replied without hesitation.

Pepper made an amused sound in her throat. “Ah, no.”

“A pig?” 

“No.”

“A very small one?”

“Still no, I’m afraid.”

Morgan’s put upon loud exhalation pushed her bottom lip out. 

“Not even guinea pig?” Peter glanced up at Pepper, biting back a grin.

Pepper’s lips twitched even as she narrowed her eyes at him in an unmistakably playful glare, before her expression turned grave. “Not even a guinea pig,” she declared.

It made Morgan laugh, and Peter giggled, enjoying the moment—it wasn’t that often that he spent time with Pepper and Morgan without Tony. And if he was being honest, it was comforting that Tony wasn’t too far. Peter could hear him talking in the next room, where he was taking a call that was running longer than expected.

“You don’t have to worry about a present, Peter. Morgan will be more than happy with your presence,” Pepper continued. “Isn’t that right, Mo?” 

Morgan made a face, but nodded in resignation. 

A minute later, however, the moment Pepper was out of the room to prepare them a snack, she batted Peter’s hand away from the button of her cardigan and squeezed his face between both her small palms. 

Peter let out a surprised chuckle. “Yeah?”

Rather than say anything she stared at him, a small frown on her face.

“Um.” Peter’s eyes darted down to the strawberry pattern collar of her shirt then up to her bright red headband. 

“It’s my birthday,” Morgan said finally.

“Right.”

“I’m having a party.”

“Mhm. And that means… presents?” Peter hazarded a guess. 

Nodding, Morgan moved his head along to nod with her, which made Peter laugh. “I’ll get you a present, Maguna,” he reassured her. 

She let go of his face to throw her arms around his neck, cheering. “You don’t _have_ to,” she chimed as she drew back and off him entirely.

“It’s traditional,” he teased her. “It’s not going to be a pet, though,” he added, feeling he should warn her.

“That’s OK,” Morgan replied magnanimously. “You can get me something else.” 

—

_Something else_ was… harder to narrow down than Peter had imagined. Though Morgan was smart, she wasn’t a genius and she was still a little girl—as May reminded him when he suggested a Dissection Kit, since she was keen on animals and not squeamish at all.

“What did _I_ ask for when I turned seven?” Peter asked his aunt. “Do you remember?”

May hummed in thought as she dished out the casserole. “You were obsessed with asteroids.” Her mouth twisted in a crooked grin, she shook her head. “You brought pebbles home in your lunchbox and then spread them all over your room, insisting it was a model of an asteroid belt… And you even gave them all names—”

“I didn’t give them the names. There’s a list,” Peter clarified immediately. “On the Harvard Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics’s website.”

“Right.” May breathed out a laugh as she sat down. “I remember I tried to be sneaky and throw them out a few at a time, but you always noticed they were missing. Made such a fuss if I even moved them…”

When he was seven Peter didn’t have any friends—he didn’t meet Ned until he was ten—and he remembers spending his recess picking up pebbles was much more fun than being picked on. He hadn’t thought he was causing May any trouble. “Sorry. Sorry, May.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, baby. At least you never collected bugs.”

Peter’s smile was strained. “Yeah. So… what did you get me?” he asked, focusing back on the original question. 

“We got you a book on asteroids—a _proper one_ , like you asked for,” she answered, reaching across the table for his hand. “And a whole universe worth of glow in the dark stickers. Space themed, of course.”

Peter squeezed her hand a few times in a spasmodic gesture, as he worried: “Morgan likes a lot of things, but I’m not sure what she loves.”

May shifted their hands to hold his still. “Hey. We’ll figure it out. It’s not as hard as you think. Most kids aren’t that particular. You’ve just always been special.”

Despite her smile, Peter was old enough to know special wasn’t necessarily a good thing—that it was just a way of saying different, and weird, not like other kids… not normal.

“I just want to get it right,” he mumbled after a moment. 

May let go of his hand and gave his fork a nudge toward him. “It’ll be alright, promise.”

Over the week Peter did research online, and made a short list of potential presents.

May’s first choice was a plush or a doll. But he discarded that option because Morgan already had a lot of plushies. Peter, who had liked to play with only a few—Mr Bunny, Lucy Lion, and Simon Shark—found the amount she had almost overwhelming. 

‘How about some action figures?’ May suggested next. ‘You loved those at one point—Couldn’t get you enough from Star Wars… and later The Avengers.’ But while Morgan did have some from her favorite show—a rebooted Power Rangers—action figures didn’t seem special enough for her birthday. 

In the end May drove them to the big toy store one afternoon. It was bright and crowded, and Peter couldn’t help but get distracted with the Star Wars merchandise, before some robotics caught his attention and he drifted down one aisle and then another in search of a present for Morgan.

“Peter!” May hurried toward him, tugging at her hair. “I’ve been looking for you. I still haven’t recovered from the time we lost you at IKEA, you know.”

Peter scrunched up his nose. “May, that was ages ago.” He was eight and fascinated by the mechanism behind self closing drawers and cabinets. When he realised his aunt and uncle had moved on without him, however, panic had set in quickly. Even after they found each other he couldn’t stop crying and they had to cut the shopping trip short. Ben had sat in the back of the car with him instead of in the passenger seat as usual, because Peter was so upset—by then not only from the fear of being lost and alone, but because he had ruined the day too. 

“Not to me it isn’t.”

Remembering the incident made Peter contrite, but May dismissed his apology with a quick hug. “Did you find anything?”

“I think so?” He showed her the Build A Beast game. “Building the skeletons is like a puzzle, which she likes. And then you make a body using clay—she likes making animals out of Play-Doh, and these ones will actually, like, move, because the skeleton is articulated—What do you think? Is it stupid? Maybe it’s a bad idea…”

May shook her head. “It’s perfect, love, very thoughtful.” She brought his head down to plant a kiss on his forehead. “My sweet boy.”

—

Despite May’s reassurances that it was a great present, Peter couldn’t stop second guessing himself, and on Friday afternoon the reality of the birthday party that would take place in a matter of hours had him anxious to the point of feeling sick to his stomach as he arrived at the lake house. 

Spending some time in the lab helped lower his anxiety, and Tony managed to coax Peter into eating most of his dinner, distracting him with a detailed discussion on nanobite technology—even as he kept up a conversation with Morgan and Pepper about her day at school. 

After dinner Pepper and Tony gave Morgan their presents: a magnificent doll house, a series of beautifully illustrated children’s books, a new board-game, and paints.

They all played captive audience as Morgan explored the doll house, though her parents kept up a quiet conversation on the side, and Peter had half his attention on his phone. He scrolled through Instagram while tracing the gold embossing on the cover and absently toying with the ribbon bookmark of one of Morgan’s new books.

By the time he got into bed Peter was feeling nervous but not sick with nerves. Hearing the soft tread of Tony’s socked feet on the hardwood, he waited to turn off the light. 

Tony gave a cursory knock before stepping inside. He had what looked like a lump of wrapping paper tucked under his elbow.

Scrambling to sit up, Peter took the proffered package with confusion.

“For you,” Tony said shortly. 

Peter stared, itching to tear the wrapping paper, something warm in his chest but still a little scary. “Mr Stark, it’s not my birthday.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth were turned up. “I am well aware, Underoos. I saw it while I was browsing for Morgan. It’s no big deal.”

It seemed like a pretty big deal to Peter, even though Tony had gifted him the spider suits, which were worth millions. 

“Go on then.” 

All too aware of Tony’s eyes on him, Peter unwrapped the package timidly, revealing a BB-8 plush. He had seen a mountain of them in the store, but the one he was holding felt one of a kind.  He was unable to stop himself from squeezing it a little, and feeling the cool silk print fabric on his cheek, his chest tight with feeling. Mr Stark had given him things before: clothes and shoes, a phone and a tablet for Christmas, LEGO sets for his birthday—but for some reason it was this stupid little thing that threatened to bring tears to Peter’s eyes. 

“Cute, isn’t it?” Tony reached out to give the plush robot’s head a turn. 

“I like BB-8,” Peter said unnecessarily—Tony knew he liked the robots in Star Wars. They both did. R2-D2 was Tony’s favorite character. He didn’t know what else to say except: “Thank you.”

Tony only nodded and ruffled his hair, before bidding him good night. 

Peter wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he slept with BB-8 clutched to his chest that night.

—

“Do we really need so many balloons?” Tony squinted at the pile of airless balloons on the coffee room table.

Morgan had decided they did after inspecting the decorations. It wasn’t hard work with an electric balloon pump, but it was tedious. 

“I thought you were bringing your friend, Ed?” Tony groused, sinking back on the couch with a loud sigh.  “We could have used the extra pair of hands.”

Peter breathed out a laugh. “We only have two machines anyway, Mr Stark. More hands wouldn’t help.” 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “More hands would spare _these_ hands,” he said, holding up his hands. “But why isn’t Fred here?” 

Peter rolled his eyes, crossing his legs where he sat on the floor. “ _Ned_ is sick. He texted me this morning.”

“Aw, shit. Tell him to feel better soon—from me. That’ll cheer him up, won’t it?”

“Yeah. It’ll make his day!” Peter replied honestly. “He said he wasn’t feeling too bad, but he didn’t want to risk getting Morgan and her friends sick.”

“Alright.” Tony tied off a balloon and held out his hand. “He’s earned himself a voice message. Phone.”

Grinning, Peter fished his phone out of his pocket. “That’ll _really_ make his day, Mr Stark. That’s so nice of you.”

“I’m hoping it’ll make his week, at minimum, Underoos. If not his month,” Tony said, making Peter giggle. 

Ned’s response came in the form of unintelligible capslock and three excited voice messages of his own, that had Mr Stark snorting in laughter. 

“Not going to lie, though, Pete—it might get a little boring for you on your own.” 

Peter shrugged. “That’s fine. Morgan’s the one who’s supposed to have fun today. Hence the balloons.” 

Tony studied him for a moment, eyebrows crinkling and mouth twitching with some undefined emotion, before it settled into a small, soft smile and he reached over to ruffle his hair. “Well. You’ll still get a goodie bag.”

“Only one? Mr Stark, I have an enhanced metabolism!” Peter joked. 

Tony laughed. “OK. Settle down, pipsqueak. You can have… three. Happy?”

“That’s better.” Peter called to mind the content of the goodie bags. “You can have all the jelly beans.”

“How generous of you…” Tony replied, deadpan before breaking into a smile—they both knew Peter detested jelly beans. 

“Mr Stark, I thought you were doing blue and red, and I was doing purple?” Peter examined the pile of balloons again, estimating the relative numbers—maybe he had been wrong to pick out all the purples ones?

Tony looked from the balloon in his hand to the bunch behind Peter, and let out a breath of laughter. “Right. I guess we are then.” 

Blushing, Peter kept his eyes down as Tony handed over the purple balloon, then reached into the pile for a red. It was clear to him now there had been no such distribution. “What kind of cake did you get in the end?” he asked, eager to move on from his mistake.

“Lemon raspberry as the little Miss requested… and gluten free vanilla and chocolate cupcakes, just in case. Sound good?” 

“Mhm. With sprinkles?”

“Of course. Sprinkle city.”

Peter smiled, letting himself hum a little as he tugged at his shoe laces idly while the balloon filled up. He felt so content in that moment—he had never imagined even in his wildest dreams that things would end up being like this with Mr Stark.

“What was your seventh birthday like, do you remember?” Tony asked suddenly.

“Yeah.” Peter had needed to ask about his presents, but he remembered his birthday well. “Aunt May and Uncle Ben took me to the Smithsonian—the Air and Space museum, in Washington.”

“That’s pretty special.”

“Mhm.” Peter pressed the pads of three fingers to the hardwood floor, sticking them and unsticking them. “They wanted to make up for my sixth, I guess.”

“What happened on your sixth?”

“It was my first birthday without my parents, and it was…” He didn’t want to have to explain how after Ben went to the trouble and expense of inviting his whole class to Chuck E. Cheese, Peter had spent most of the time hiding in the bathroom, and then had a meltdown in the car on the way home. “It was hard.”

“Oh.”

“It’s fine.”

“ _Kid._ ”

“ _Really._ ” 

Tony nudged his foot with his own. “My… my parents died around thirty years ago, but—I… I know it’s hard.” 

Peter unstuck from the floor and grabbed hold of Mr Stark’s ankle instead. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

“I just want you to know I understand. You can… talk to me.” 

“It wasn’t… it wasn’t… easy. But it was—I had my aunt and uncle, and they were always so good to me, so it was—” Peter rambled as he set up another balloon. “It was… really hard when Ben died. But May was so great. And being Spider-man helped. And… and you.”

Nervous and uncertain about how his confession would be received, he looked up at Tony, searching for a clue in his face, but it was blank. As Peter was about to start stammering an apology, Tony pulled him closer, bending down to press a kiss the top of his head.

Smiling against his knee, Peter wrapped an arm around his leg. 

The exploding balloon made him jump, then turn his face into the side of Tony’s thigh, face scrunched up in discomfort.

“You OK?” Tony asked, running a gentle hand through his hair.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s just… loud.” Peter forced himself to let go, and pick up the scattered pieces of balloon.

“I bet.” Tony gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Let’s finish up here, yeah?”

—

“Hey, birthday girl.” 

Morgan came bounding down the hall, showing off her bright yellow dress. “Do you like my dress? Isn’t it pretty? It is, isn’t it?”

“It sure is.” 

After acknowledging Peter’s praise with a satisfied nod, she proceeded to launch herself at Tony as he walked out of the master bedroom, freshened up and holding the headband Morgan had left behind.

In preparation for the arrival of their guests, Peter had combed back his hair and changed into another shirt. He expected a NASA shirt might make a better impression than one with a pizza pun—though he had been gratified with the reaction it had got out of Tony.

Morgan’s best friend Elena was the first to arrive. Out of the car the moment it came to a stop, the two ran to each other and jumped around, squealing and chattering, while the adults greeted each other. 

Pepper introduced him with a simple: ‘This is Peter.’ 

Peter had been dreading making conversation with a number of strangers, but he hadn’t realised until that moment that he would need to be introduced to everyone. 

Elena’s mother smiled at him, and shook his hand without asking any more questions. But Peter worried if she wondered what he was doing there and how he fit into the Stark family. It made sense for people to ask themselves that question, and he had no idea how to explain it.

“Um, hi. I’m Peter. Peter Parker. Nice to meet you.” 

“Peter, why are you being so shy?” Morgan piped up, all of a sudden at his elbow. “Ms Silvia is so nice.”

“Aw, thank you, sweetie.” 

His face hot with embarrassment, Peter forced out a laugh. 

Tony’s hand found his shoulder and squeezed, and Peter couldn’t help but lean into the touch. 

“Mommy, can I show Elena my room?” Morgan tugged on Pepper’s arm.

“Sure. But you have to come down to greet your friends when they arrive, and keep to the playroom afterwards.”

Permission granted, Morgan took her friend’s hand and ran off without looking back.

“Didn’t Elena sleep over… two weeks ago?” Peter said without thinking—Morgan had talked about it for an entire weekend. 

“Yes she did.”

Peter grinned back at Silvia uncertainly—it was easier to pretend to be in on the joke even if he didn’t understand than to ask what was funny.

“What was it that Morgan said the other night, Tony?” Pepper asked with a faint grin.

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Which gem? That she couldn’t eat her mashed potatoes in solidarity to Gerald, or couldn’t go to sleep because she had to keep the moon company?”

“Alpacas can’t eat potatoes,” Peter confirmed—he had read the book on alpaca care in the house in between his turns to roll the dice playing Snakes and Ladders with Morgan. 

Tony gave his shoulder another squeeze, rubbing a soothing circle with his thumb. “I’m pretty sure they also can’t eat chocolate, but I doubt the little miss will be as eager to give that up,” he said with a chuckle. “Or potatoes in the form of french fries, actually.”

“Definitely not,” Peter agreed with a laugh. Morgan loved fries. 

Silvia shook her head, though she was grinning. “The excuses only get worse as they get older.”

“True. And don’t give me that look—” Tony shook Peter lightly by the shoulder. “What was it… ‘I already didn’t sleep for twenty hours so what harm could a few more do?’”

“Mr Stark,” Peter complained, his face heating up again. “That was one time.” A miscalculation on his part.

“He fainted in gym class is what happened.” 

“Oh dear.”

Pouting, Peter shrugged out of the circle of his arm. “I didn’t _pass out_.” He had felt a bit sick and had to lie down, that was all. “You’re worse than May.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t,” Peter said moodily, biting back a smile at Tony’s chuckle. 

However, he knew from experience with May how frequently a conversation with parents would make him the center of attention, so he looked for an out. “I’m going to go check on the girls.”

“Thank you, Peter,” Pepper said, her amusement obvious.

Peter glanced at Silvia out of the corner of his eye as he left, catching her smile before he headed inside. 

—

Peter found Morgan in her bedroom, showing Elena her new doll house. Without moving from her position on her knees by the house, she turned to look up at him with her eyes narrowed. “What is it?”

“I’m not stopping you.” Peter held his hands up in a pacifying gesture with a chuckle. “Just checking up on you guys.” 

After considering him for a second Morgan’s mouth twisted into a grin. “Well we’re good, so…” She made a shooing sound and gesture with her hands. Elena burst into a fit of giggles. 

Peter blinked, unsure if she was joking or if she was being rude enough to warrant reprimanding.

“I’m a big girl now, Peter.” Jumping to her feet, she started to push him bodily out of the room with both hands. 

“So I’m not allowed?” Peter asked, even as he let her move him toward the door. 

“Nope. Unless Mommy sent you?”

“Uh, no, not… technically…?” he admitted.

“Then out!” She slammed the door behind him, uproarious laughter following immediately.

Peter hesitated outside the door for a minute before making his way to his bedroom down the hall, where he had left his phone charging. While checking the messages on the Decathlon group chat, he heard the girls run downstairs to join new voices outside.

Imagining it would be rude to hide out in his room, but reluctant to go outside to meet and mingle with a bunch of strange adults, he ended up in the kitchen. 

Perched on one of the stools he scrolled through different apps on his phone, unable to concentrate on anything with all the activity as Morgan’s friends started arriving. The continuous stampeding of children from the playroom to the porch and back, as well as the adult conversation and laughter outside, interspersed with the coming and going of cars, were difficult to tune out. 

A short while later, Peter was up to a count of eighteen for children and thirteen adults. Focused, straining to hear the ticking of still hot engines in order to figure out how many cars were parked outside, he was caught unawares when Pepper and a strange woman came into the kitchen. 

They both faltered at the sight of him, head cocked to the side and phone screen black on the table in front of him, hands occupied instead with rustling the tinselled trimming of a party hat. 

Peter hurried to sweep the bits of hat that had come loose into his palm and then his pocket.

“What are you doing here all on your own, sweetheart?” Pepper asked, taking the pair of Tupperware containers from the woman and moving toward the fridge.

Stretching out the elastic string of the party hat, Peter shrugged. “Just staying… out of the way?”

Pepper peered at him around the side of the open fridge door. “Tony’s still out on the porch.” 

He knows this. “Yeah…?” 

“Why don’t you join him? While we sort out some drinks here, Padma and I.”

“I can help,” he offered, hopping off the stool. 

“That’s OK.” Pepper smiled at him. “You did more than your share this morning.” Peter had helped sort out snacks and prepare what they would be serving for lunch. 

“I don’t mind,” he said honestly. 

Pepper brushed her ponytail over her shoulder, still smiling. “Thanks, Pete, but there’s really no need. I just want to show Padma Morgan’s new lunchbox too, actually. We won’t be a minute… you go on outside.”

Peter felt the weight of Padma’s gaze on him, and it hit him that Pepper was trying to get him to leave. “ _Oh._ Right. OK. Sorry!” he stammered as he hurried out of the kitchen.

‘So that’s Peter.’ Padma’s voice carried into the hall. 

Pepper made a sound between a sigh and a laugh. ’That’s Peter.’ 

‘How old is he again?’ 

‘Sixteen—seventeen in August.’ 

‘Oh.’ 

There was a long pause before Pepper’s answer. ‘He’s the sweetest boy you can imagine, and he’s been so good for Tony.’ 

‘I’m sure he’s a special boy.’

Peter’s stomach tightened into a painful knot, and he had to blink away a sudden sting in his eyes.

‘But anyway, how are things with George? I thought he might come…’ Pepper carried on.

Continuing down the hall, Peter squinted at the light streaming in from the open front door, hesitant. Tony was entertaining, and any comfort being with him would bring was cancelled out by the crowd of strangers.

“Peter! I need your help!”

“What happened?” Peter turned to Morgan in alarm as she skidded down the hall in her socks, but she seemed unhurt and more harried than unhappy.

In lieu of a response she dragged him to the playroom. His nose started burning long before he stepped inside, however, so that he could take a guess at what happened before he saw it.  The aroma diffuser bottle had shattered, spreading glass shards wide across the hardwood floor. He was surprised at how little liquid had spilled, since the smell was so strong. 

“What happened?” Peter asked, frowning. “Did anyone get hurt?”

Morgan shook her head. “We were just… playing…” 

Scanning the room, Peter caught Morgan’s aborted movement in the corner of his eye right before he noticed the mini drone on the bean bag. “Morgan, where did you get that?” 

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, then gave in: “Garage.”

Peter’s sigh was cut short by a stinging sneeze. “You know you’re not supposed to go into the garage on your own, or take anything out.”

Pouting, Morgan stepped forward to wrap both arms around his legs. “I know. But… but it’s my birthday. Peter, you can’t be mad. Please? Please?”

Peter couldn’t hold back a small smile. “Alright, alright. I’m not mad.”

Morgan beamed up at him. “Will you help me clean it up? I’m not supposed to, because it’s glass. Please?” 

“Yeah, of course, Mo.” Peter lifted his tee shirt to cover his mouth and nose. She seemed unaffected by the smell but it was making his head swim. “Can you get me the broom and pan?”

While he cleaned up Morgan remained at his shoulder, helpfully pointing out where he had missed any pieces. 

“Thank you!” she sighed once they were done, hugging his legs again. 

“No problem. Go say hello to your friend—” He could make out new voices outside. “And that’s everyone, right?”

Morgan clapped her hands happily. “Yes! Everyone came!”

Her excitement brought a grin to his face. “Ready for the best party ever?”

After instructing Morgan to put on her shoes, Peter headed to the kitchen to throw out the glass. Though Pepper and Padma were no longer there, he found Tony and Happy instead.

“Hey, Happy.”

“Kid.”

“What happened? Tony asked, motioning at the duster pan with his chin while sipping from a water bottle. 

“Um. Something broke,” he replied evasively as he tipped the glass into the bin. Tony was soft on Morgan, but he still didn’t want to get her into any kind of trouble on her _birthday_. 

Happy snorted. “I think we got that.”

“Right.” Peter twisted his fingers, holding back a wince at a small cut he hadn’t noticed until that moment. “Well. I… I picked it up. And none of the kids got cut or anything, so. All good.” He tried out an ingratiating grin, at which Happy remained impassive and Tony raised an eyebrow, though his lips twitched as he finished with the bottle.

“OK… We’ll talk about it later.” He fetched a container of unshelled boiled eggs they had prepared for the kids to paint, since Easter was right around the corner. “Gotta get this egg painting deal on the road. How many Iron Man Eggs will we get, do you think?”

“I’m making a Thor egg,” Peter teased.

“Kid, you’re testing me today,” Tony muttered as he walked out of the kitchen, Happy and Peter following.

Happy laughed, but Peter’s stomach knotted with sudden anxiety that Tony wasn’t being sarcastic but was actually upset with him. Maybe Pepper had complained about him, or Padma had said something. 

Avoiding the egg painting table where Tony was presiding over a good natured competition, Peter helped out at the egg carton crafts table instead. He sent MJ a picture of his creation—an Enterprise ship model—which earned him a facepalm emoji, but also a ‘not entirely awful, nerd’ which seemed like pretty high praise.

Standing to a side while parents chatted and watched the kids play musical chairs, Peter felt Ned’s absence acutely. The sun soon started feeling too hot on the back of his neck as well, and the party, despite the planned activities, was loud and entirely too chaotic for him.  It wasn’t the chaos Peter was used to—dodging punches or bullets, calculating web trajectories, thinking three moves ahead… This was tantrums because of spilled paint, incessant shouting and stamping feet, and music loud enough there was static. Peter felt like he was back in primary school, but even more out of place.

The scavenger hunt provided some relief in its structure at least. And it gave him something to fidget with as he held onto one of the clues—a Lego minifigure of a wizard, with a click-on beard and hair, and a tiny staff in its hand. Peter hovered by the snack table, blinking against the bright sunlight beyond the shade of the tree as the kids played tag. 

Come lunchtime, Tony didn’t seem mad any longer—if he had been before—even when he had to call Peter’s name four times to get his attention. 

“Wh—? Sorry, sorry.” Although they had set up the tables for lunch out of the worst of the sun, it was still bright enough it hurt his eyes, and the number of people around him was testing his ability to focus. “How can I help?”

Tony pointed toward a woman Peter hadn’t met yet and threw out a name, but he didn’t have time to elaborate as Silvia approached him with a tray of steaming hotdogs.

Peter turned to the woman. “Hi. Miss. Um. Roberta. I’m Peter—”

“Hello. It’s Rachel, actually.”

He winced. “Oh. It is?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry. I thought I heard—”

“You heard it right. That _is_ what he said, it’s just not my name.”

“Right.” Peter couldn’t keep up eye contact, his eyes darting to her left earring, the pocket on her blouse, the corner of a tablecloth flapping in the light breeze behind her. “Um. Mr Stark’s not great with names? He always calls my best friend something different—though, well, he does it on purpose now, I’m pretty sure. But it’s… it’s nothing personal—”

Her right hand flew to her mouth as she made a sound that could pass as a laugh. “Honey… I was only messing with you.”

Peter blinked, feeling a bit lost. “Right. I—Sorry.” He wasn’t sure now, what her name was for real.

She peered at him with her eyebrows raised high. “We good?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s just—” Peter replied, stammering. “Your name… it’s Roberta?”

“No. No, it’s Rachel.” She laughed, and reached out to grip his elbow, giving him a light shake before letting go. “I was only joking about being upset. There was a bit of a mix up, but it’s natural, we just met.”

Peter managed to summon a strained smile, his face and neck hot with embarrassment and annoyance—he didn’t understand why she couldn’t have just told him her name. “So. Um. How can I help?” he asked, noticing her eyes following the movement as he tucked the LEGO deep in his pocket.

“Do you mind getting the salads? They’re in the fridge.” 

“Sure.” 

He hurried toward the house, relieved at the excuse to get away from Rachel. On the way he bumped into Happy carrying the coolers with the drinks to the lunch tables. 

“Happy, I can take that,” Peter offered automatically, worried he might be straining under their weight.

Happy shook his head. “Not as Peter Parker you can’t. I’ve got it.”

“OK,” he answered, voice coming out small. “Sorry.”

Peter continued on to the house with his head low, tamping down the ridiculous surge of emotion in his chest. Happy being brusque was normal, and Tony was understandably busy, and Ned was sick, and May was at work—and that was _fine_. He was being ridiculous, and childish. 

It wasn’t quiet in the kitchen with all the noise from outside, and the smells—but he appreciated being out of the sun and away from everyone for few seconds. He allowed himself a minute before heading back to Rachel with the three salad containers.

He was glad to lose track of her while the food was served, and he had hoped to avoid her completely during lunch. But his ear caught the sound of her voice while he was looking for a drink to go with his hotdog, even though she was whispering.

“I don’t know what it is but—I’ve got two teenagers, Daniel… I know what’s normal and what’s not.” 

“Hm. I guess it’s easier if he’s only around on weekends.” 

“Well I don’t envy his parents.”

His throat tight all of a sudden, and ears burning as much as his eyes, Peter sidled around the crowd to a place where he could sit in dappled shade mostly hidden from sight by a tree.

May and Ben always told him his parents had loved him more than anything. But then he knew he had turned his aunt and uncle's lives upside down too, when they got saddled with him even though they had never wanted children of their own—May had let it slip once when Peter was eleven.

Now he was imposing on Tony and Pepper, who had a child of their own, and had not signed up for him either.

He thought about the BB-8 in his bedroom— _his bedroom—_ and how Mr Stark kept the fridge stocked with strawberry milk just for Peter, because no one else in the house liked it. Tony cared for him, he was certain. And he knew May would do anything for him. Despite everything, however, it was still hard to shake the feeling of being a burden.

Knuckling his eyes against the tears that threatened to spill, Peter stared out across the lake. He needed to get it together soon—there were more activities planned, including blowing out the candles on the birthday cake. This was Morgan’s birthday party—he would _not_ make a scene. 

Happy’s particular tread and the scent of his deodorant announced his presence in advance. “Why the long face?” he asked, coming to a stop in front of him and giving him a light kick to one foot.

“What long face? There’s no long face,” Peter lied.

Happy remained expressionless—it was never clear to Peter if that meant a question or not. “What is it?” Happy asked impatiently after a moment. 

“Just wanted to get out of the sun…” Peter answered, which was not quite a lie—the light was bothering him a lot; there was a reason he wore protective goggles or lenses when he went out as Spider-man.

Brow furrowed, Happy looked him over. “You’re not even sweating.” There were perspiration circles creeping out from under Happy’s arms, though he was out of his suit for once. 

Peter shrugged, shoulders hunched. 

The sound of Morgan’s laughter made him look up: she was talking animatedly as she ate with her friends. Having inherited Tony’s charisma and Pepper’s authoritative aura, she had taken to school immediately and was well liked by both other children and staff. 

“You sure you alright?” Happy asked after a moment.

“Mhm.” 

“Eat that,” he instructed, pointing to the plastic plate on his lap where his lunch sat untouched. “It’s a decent hot dog.” 

The corners of Peter’s mouth twitched. “That good?” he joked. 

Happy gave him another look. “Smartass. Eat,” he repeated, kicking his foot again before going back to the group.

Peter tried to eat, but the smell of the aroma diffuser oil still clung to his fingers so that he could taste it with every mouthful. The knot in his stomach didn’t help matters either, and in the end he tucked most of his hotdog in a napkin, spread the salad around the plate, and tossed it all in the garbage bin. 

—

It was less hectic after lunch with the kids settling down enough to play a couple of games of Telephone and Mystery Sock. Peter’s headache didn’t quite disappear in that time, but it eased into a dull pain between his eyebrows.

Then came the time to make rainbow slime. 

He wasn’t expecting Morgan to call him over to her table, and was excited to help her out with a bit of basic chemistry, with no chance of her declaring it boring, since it indulged her artistic tendencies too.  Helping her measure and mix was fun. But Peter soon discovered the texture of the slime on his hands was absolutely repellent, and the artificial smell mixed with the remnants of the aroma oil unbearable. 

He shuddered as the slime slipped between his fingers, and instinctively let it drop back on the table.

Morgan stared at him in confusion. “What’s wrong? It’s slime!” she said, squishing some between her own fingers with obvious delight. 

“Sorry, Morgan, I… I really don’t like it. I need—”

He stumbled in his haste to get to the lunch tables where there was still a stack of napkins. A whine caught in his throat when the feeling and smell persisted, even as he wiped his hands down. 

A hand came to rest on his shoulder, the weight and warmth of it familiar. “What is it? Are you alright?” Tony asked. “Pete?”

“I don’t—It feels—it makes me feel weird.” Peter scrubbed at his hands, although the slime wasn’t even on him, he could still feel it on his skin. 

“Might he be allergic?” Someone piped up, noticing his distress. “Whoops, careful there!” Napkins fluttered to the floor as Peter went to snatch up a few more.

“Shit. Sorry, sorry—” 

“Why don’t you go wash your hands inside, yeah, kiddo?” Tony rubbed up and down his arm soothingly. “It’s fine.” 

Peter sprinted back to the house, where he washed his hands in the kitchen sink with hot water until his skin was stinging, but the feeling and most of the smell had faded.

He didn’t hurry back but instead took the time to splash some cool water on his face and the back of his neck. He was desperate for some time away from everyone and everything, but before he could even consider it, Morgan came looking for him. 

“We’re going to open presents, you have to come!” she told him excitedly, grabbing his wrist to pull him along. 

Peter didn’t hesitate to follow her out. “You’re not mad at me?” he asked quietly after a moment. 

“No. I told my friends you had a tummy ache. And I got more slime!” she replied with a grin. Peter couldn’t bring himself to ask if she couldn’t have thought of another excuse. “Do you want to see it?” Morgan froze with her hand in the wide pocket of her dress. “You don’t have to touch it, if you don’t want.”

Coughing to clear the sudden lump in his throat, Peter nodded. “Yeah, of course… Thanks. Whoa, look at all the colors!” he said enthusiastically, as she held out the slime for him to admire. 

Beaming, she dragged him over to where the kids were being coaxed into a circle for a game of spin the bottle to reveal the presents. 

After their bonding moment, Peter was even more worried about disappointing her with his present. But Morgan reacted as she had for every other gift, and even made him promise then and there that they would play Build a Beast together the next time he came over. 

And then it was time to go—the parents present started rounding up their child, and cars started arriving for the others, Pepper and Tony seeing everyone off personally. 

Peter started cleaning up, both to be helpful and to avoid having to make conversation—though a few parents and kids called out their goodbyes to him, and smiled when he waved back.

As the party wound down and relieved of the anxiety over Morgan’s present, he felt a bit better, though he was carefully avoiding thinking about every instance in which he had messed up, and what Rachel and Daniel had said.

Within the hour everyone had left, except for Morgan’s best friend, Elena, and her mother.

“Want to help Peter clean up?” Tony asked the two girls as he dropped a stack of snack bowls in the kitchen, while Peter was putting away the salad leftovers. 

“No,” Morgan responded immediately. “It’s my birthday, I’m not supposed to do any work.” 

Peter laughed, earning himself a toothy grin from Morgan. “It’s the rules, Mr Stark. No work on your birthday.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but chuckled. “OK. How about this? I might have extra goodie bags lying around for whoever rounds up all the balloons…”

That got them moving. 

Rounding up the balloons, though, apparently meant popping them, one after another and another. The two trailed Peter as he brought in Morgan’s presents to the playroom, popping balloons behind him all along the hall.

“Can you… Can you please stop?” Peter begged when they started on the balloons scattered in the playroom.

“Why?” Elena countered, eyebrows raised. 

Peter hesitated. “It hurts my ears,” he admitted. His head was pounding again, the lingering scent in the room contributing to the discomfort.

“Why?” 

“It just—” He flinched when she popped another two in quick succession, smiling mischievously. “—does.” 

Without thinking, Peter snatched the stick she had been using to pop the balloons from her hand. She screamed right in his face with no warning. His hands flew to his ears, which throbbed painfully along with his head.

The next second she was laughing. Shoulders shaking with giggles, Elena retrieved the stick from his slack grip and ran off crowing.  Morgan scampered after her without a word.

Twisting his fingers in front of him, Peter left the playroom. He needed a moment—everything to just _stop_ for a moment. 

“Elena!?” 

Peter could not hold back a whine at the shout, and winced when Elena’s mom walked into him as she hurried down the corridor toward where she had heard her daughter scream.

“Sorry, sorry—”

“Elena—”

“She’s alright…” Peter slurred. He wanted to get past her up to his room, but his limbs seemed detached from him.

Silvia peered at him, frowning. “Are _you_ alright?”

The words stuck somewhere between his throat and his brain, and only an inarticulate sound came out. 

A balloon popped out in the porch—still too close—too loud. Peter whimpered, hands back to covering his ears, elbows and shoulders tucked in close. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal, but he was sensitive from hours of overstimulation. And he couldn’t deal with any more.

“Peter, right? I’m going to—”

Brandishing a cap, Morgan came running into the house on her way to the kitchen. “Daddy! Harrison forgot his—” She skid to a stop when she caught sight of him. “Peter! What’s wrong?” 

“N-nothing, Maguna, I’m… fine.” 

“Sweetie, can you get your daddy?”

Morgan stared at Peter for a second, bottom lip between her teeth. “Daddy!” she shouted.

Silvia released a loud exhalation. “Not what I had in mind,” she said under her breath. There were more words coming out of her mouth, but Peter couldn’t make them out, focused on Morgan’s thundering footsteps as she raced to the kitchen.

A few seconds later there were more footsteps coming toward him.

The lump in his throat was back and Peter felt frozen in place, breath coming too fast. 

“Peter.” Tony reached out to touch his left wrist, encouraging him to lower his arm. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

Peter shook his head jerkily, unable to find his voice. 

“It looks like…” 

Tony glanced at Silvia, though his focus was still on Peter. 

“It looks like he’s having a bit of a… meltdown?” she suggested in a low, hesitant voice. “It’s been a long day…”

Eyes round with horror Peter’s head snapped to stare at her. They didn’t talk about… _that_. Any of it. “I’m… I’m not—I’m—” A sob caught in his throat, and he stared down at the floor, eyes burning.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, love. I’m a special education teacher. I’ve been working with autistic students for years; I’m used to this kind of thing.” 

Peter’s stomach dropped to his feet. He didn’t dare look up, although he could feel Tony’s eyes on him.

“What does that mean? Au-tis-tic,” Morgan asked, stumbling over the pronunciation, looking from one adult to the other. 

Silvia replied: “It’s nothing bad.”

“But what _is_ it?” Morgan turned to Tony. “Daddy?”

“Mo, where did you go!?” Elena appeared at the end of the hall, stick still in hand, pouting. Her expression changed as she took in the scene. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked, staring at Peter.

“I have to—” Peter gasped, and like a mechanism coming unstuck his body was moving, down the hall and up the stairs, head pounding as he ran up to his room. 

The hitch in his breathing had devolved into full on sobbing by the time he closed the door behind him. 

Shoes toed off in the middle of the room, Peter hurried to rummage in his backpack for the Spider-man mask, throwing aside books and notebooks. He pulled the mask on as he crawled up the wall, heart beating hard and fast in his chest.

“K-karen, hey.”

“Hello, Peter, you appear to be in distress. Would you like me to alert Tony Stark?”

Whining, Peter dropped from the ceiling onto the bed, fishing his phone out of his pocket as it dug into his hip, and tossing it aside. “He’s… he’s already alerted.”

“Very well. What may I do for you while you wait for assistance?”

He didn’t think assistance was coming—Tony put up with a lot, but how could he be expected to deal with Peter when he was like this?  “Um. Could you…” Peter clutched the BB-8 plush to his chest, fingers digging into the material, scratching at the seams. “Would you mind just… maybe reading to me a little?” Music helped too, but right now he wanted a friendly voice to drown out everything in his head, and the conversation that was probably taking place downstairs.

“Of course, Peter. Shall we continue with _Wind in the Willows_?”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, pulling the duvet over his head. 


	2. Chapter 2

Tony was all too aware he had been an idiot. Anyone could have guessed the day might end something like this. _He_ was craving some quiet time—it was no wonder Peter had reached his breaking point.

“Mo?” Elena walked up to them with a puzzled frown. “Mom?”

“It’s alright, El. Morgan’s—” Silvia’s eyes flitted to Tony. “ _Peter_ wasn’t feeling well, that’s all.” 

“Oh.” She eyed her mother and Tony dubiously, before turning to Morgan, who looked both confused and pensive, eyebrows quirked and bottom lip pushed out.

“Morgan, it’s almost time for Selena to leave. Why don’t you two go play outside for a few minutes?” Tony said, finding his footing again.

Morgan looked up at him in surprise—it was rare he use her proper name. His serious tone must have registered too, because she didn’t make a fuss or ask any more questions.  Taking Elena’s hand, she gave a tug to get her friend moving. At the end of the hall she stopped, however. “Peter’s OK, right?” she asked timidly.

Tony managed a small smile. “He will be. Don’t worry about it, baby.”

Once Morgan and Elena were out of sight and ear shot, he turned to face Silvia, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling defensive. Tony knew he had not handled the situation well. “It’s not normally like this.”

“That’s good,” Silvia replied with a faint smile. There was no accusation or judgement in her voice as she continued: “There’s some great resources to explain autism to younger children, if you… need it.”

“I don’t know if she’ll remember to ask…” he said dumbly—that was not what he was expecting.

“It might be good to talk to her about it even if she doesn’t.” Silvia nudged her glasses up her nose, mouth twisted to one side. “It’s going to come up eventually. Kids pick up on things, you know, whether they have a name for it or not, and they don’t always come to the right… conclusions. You might not want to miss the chance to explain things yourself. Just a word of advice.”

Tony scrubbed a hand down his face. He thought about Morgan complaining to him that Peter didn’t know how to play house with her, or the time Pepper told her to stop playing with the zipper on her coat before she broke it, and she cried, and claimed it wasn’t fair because Peter was always doing it and didn’t get in trouble. “I need to go check on Peter…” That was true enough. “But… thank you. Maybe you could give me some pointers?”

“Pepper’s got my number. It was nice meeting you, Tony.”

“You too.” 

Tony stopped to grab a snack for Peter in the kitchen, before heading upstairs. He had to knock on the bedroom door with his foot. “Pete?” 

Picking up on a quiet whine from inside, he didn’t wait for a verbal invitation to open the door. 

He had to step over a notebook on the floor, and make room on the bedside table to set down the mug. As he sat on the edge of the bed, Tony noticed Peter’s phone almost slipping to the floor, and placed it on the bedside table too. “Kiddo, can you come out from under there so I can make sure you’re alright, please?”

After a long minute, Peter surfaced, and with some encouragement pulled the Spider-man mask off to reveal wet, reddened eyes and a pink nose.

“There’s my Spider-baby.” In what had become a practiced movement, Tony smoothed his hair back and rested a hand on his forehead, feeling for any unusual warmth.

“I’m not sick,” Peter whispered like a confession. 

Tony nodded. “But you’re not feeling well.”

Peter only curled in on himself, avoiding Tony’s eyes.

“What did you eat for lunch?”

“Um. A hot dog.”

“Just the one?” Morgan had wolfed down two hot dogs even after grazing on snacks through the morning—and she was seven and without an accelerated metabolism.

“Stomach hurt,” Peter mumbled, shrugging. 

“Why don’t you try to eat something now?” Tony scratched lightly at his scalp in a soothing gesture. “Hypoglycemia is probably not helping… anything.” 

After a minute, Peter agreed with a small nod. Plush antennae peeked out under the covers as he sat up to recline on the pillows.

“Take it easy—drink slow.”

Peter’s lips curved into a wan smile as he traced the ceramic ears on his favorite mug, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the small chip in one. He remained withdrawn, however, as he sipped at the strawberry milk and got through half a granola bar before finally raising his eyes to Tony’s, expression painful in its earnestness. “Mr Stark, I—”

Tony cut off the apology he knew was coming. “I think we’ll skip the balloons next year, hm?” he commented instead. 

Peter ducked his head. “It… it wasn’t just the balloons,” he admitted. 

“No, I didn’t think it was.” Tony sighed, urging him to finish the granola bar with a touch to his hand.

“I shouldn’t have come to the party,” Peter blurted out after two bites, crumpling up the wrapper. “I only upset Morgan, and embarrassed you and Miss Potts, and—” 

“What? Peter, that’s not true—” 

“It is.” Peter looked at him with wide, tearful eyes. “I’m sorry, Mr Stark. You’ve been so good to me, and I… I should have w-warned you—I t-try to… to be… normal, but I can’t get it right. I always m-mess up.” Tony rescued the mug when Peter pulled at the duvet in an attempt to cover his face as he started crying. 

“Spider-baby. Peter…” he said helplessly, “You don’t need a warning because you’re—”

“Autistic,” Peter choked out, almost inaudible. 

“Autistic,” Tony echoed, and then repeated again, louder, because he never wanted Peter to feel like he had to be ashamed of himself. “You’re autistic.” It wasn’t a question, or even an assumption anymore.

Sniffling, Peter lowered the duvet to reveal his tear streaked face. With a white knuckled grip on the covers, he opened his mouth as though to speak, but didn’t. ‘I’m sorry’ was all he said in the end, voice shaking.

“Kid, what are you apologising for?” 

He made a sound somewhere between a faint laugh and a sob. “… Me?”

“Oh, Pete. Come here.” Tony moved around to sit against the headboard, and pulled Peter into his arms. “I’ve really made a mess of things, haven’t I?” he muttered under his breath. 

An arm around his middle and his head on his chest, Peter made a questioning sound in his throat.

Tony considered his words for a minute, wanting—needing—to get this right. “We maybe... probably— _definitely_ should have talked about… all of this, before.”

Peter’s fingers twisted in the material of his shirt. “I thought maybe you knew, but I wasn’t… sure.”

“I had my suspicions that you were on the spectrum.” He felt Peter stiffen minutely at the phrase. At the start he had thought the kid was just nervous, a bit awkward perhaps, but it soon became apparent there was something more to it. “I did some research, because I wanted to do whatever I could to make things easier for you. But I did a pretty shit job—”

Peter shook his head emphatically, and held onto him tighter. “I noticed, Mr Stark,” he said in a small voice. “That’s why I thought you knew. But I thought you… didn’t want to talk about it. Ben didn’t.”

It was some relief to know he had done something right, accounting for Peter’s differences and difficulties. The comment about Uncle Ben gave him pause, however. “He didn’t?” Tony asked curiously.

One shoulder rose and fell in a tiny shrug. “He said it didn’t matter, because it didn’t change anything.”

“Well… it doesn’t change how I feel about you…” he replied carefully. “You’re still Peter.”

“That’s what Ben said.”

Something in Peter’s tone and the renewed fidgeting with his shirt made him ask: “And what do _you_ think?”

“I _am_ still Peter, but… it does matter, sometimes…” Peter said quietly. “Like today.”

Tony ran a soothing hand up and down Peter’s back. “Yeah. I dropped the ball today,” he agreed with a sigh. 

“No, no. What?”

“I left you alone, Underoos.”

Peter pulled back from their embrace. “I’m sixteen, Mr Stark,” he said brusquely, his face red.

“I didn’t mean it like that… my favorite _young adult,_ ” Tony teased, and was gratified when Peter’s scowl relaxed into an annoyed pout. His own smile faded, though, as he summoned every ounce of emotional maturity he had developed over the years to explain: “I don’t want you to feel like you’re on your own, Pete. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me, or come to me… ever again.”

He pressed on over Peter’s vague protesting noise—he knew he had screwed the pooch with the whole Homecoming fiasco. “Not as Spider-man, and not as Peter. You’re… you’re my kid.” The emotion getting the best of him, Tony sniffed and cleared his throat. 

“Tony,” Peter whimpered, reaching for him again. 

Tony pressed a kiss to the top of his head before tucking him under his chin, and tightening his arms around him. “I did all this research, but it didn’t occur to me that probably the first thing I should have done is talk to you. If you ask Pepper, she’ll tell you that’s just like me,” he added wryly.

Peter breathed out a weak laugh against his chest.

“But we will talk about it from now on, OK?” Tony nosed at his curls, smelling shampoo and the distinct, synthetic scent of the Spider-man suit. He was determined to make things right. 

“Will Morgan be mad if I skip her birthday party next year?” he asked after a couple of minutes, voice still thick.

That surprised a chuckle out of Tony. “Jesus, I might just skip it too,” he said, a hand coming up to play with Peter’s hair. “Little monsters, the lot of them. Their parents too.”  He toed off his shoes with a theatrical groan, and settled into a more comfortable position. “I’m joking. Mostly.”

With his arms around him and a hand on his back, he felt Peter’s faint laugh rather than heard it. “I don’t know about the others, but… you’re… you’re a really great dad, Mr Stark,” he said, hesitant and shy and so clearly heartfelt it made emotion clog up Tony’s throat again.

“I don’t know about that, Spider-baby.” He dropped another kiss on the top of Peter’s head. “But I know I’ve got the two best kids in the world.” Tony didn’t know how he ever got so lucky, to have everything he did. 

Peter sniffled, arms tightening around him. “That’s such a dad thing to say.” He could hear the smile in Peter’s voice, even if he couldn’t see it, with his face squashed against his middle.

“That means I’m doing it right, right?” Though he was joking, it was something he worried about constantly, doing right by his kids.

Even though he giggled in response, Peter still sounded a little weepy, and tired, and it didn’t come as a surprise when his body soon grew heavy with sleep. Tony didn’t stop stroking his hair, however, knowing the touch was soothing and relaxing for Peter. 

Communicating through the Stark watch on his wrist, F.R.I.D.A.Y informed him Pepper had taken Morgan out for a drive—which explained the unusual silence in the house. He didn’t know how much Morgan or Silvia might have told Pepper about what had happened with Peter, but her thoughtfulness and take charge attitude never ceased to amaze him.

Between asleep and awake, he thought about the kid in his arms, and the little girl who had just turned seven, and the beautiful, wonderful woman he got to call his wife. It seemed unreal this was his life. 

About half an hour later, hearing Pepper’s car, Tony carefully disentangled himself from Peter, thankful when he didn’t wake up. 

Before he left he made sure the BB-8 plush was back in his arms, and pulled the duvet up high like Peter liked it.

—

“Daddy!” Morgan greeted him in a loud whisper as he cracked open the door to the mudroom and peered inside. Disregarding the red rubber boot still on one foot she ran over to Tony for a hug. “We went to the duck pond!” she informed him in excited, but still hushed tones. 

Tony brushed her hair back from her face, smiling at she wrinkled her nose in response. “Did you take the pond ducks some birthday cake?”

Morgan rolled her eyes and wiggled out of his embrace to finish taking off her boot. “Mommy said ducks can’t eat cake.”

“Sounds tragic.” Tony rose to his feet and gave Pepper a kiss on the corner of her mouth, where it was dimpled in contained amusement. 

“They got their fill of grain—they’re good.” 

“We saw a frog too!” Morgan exclaimed as she peeled off her damp socks—then clapped a hand over her mouth. “And beetles and snails!” she added, pitching her voice lower.

Brow furrowed in confusion, Tony looked to Pepper for an answer as the three of them moved on into the house. “I told her we had to be extra quiet in case Peter was resting. And we had plenty of loud time all day at the party, didn’t we?”

“I _guess_.” 

Tony found Pepper’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles, over the wedding band. He hoped it said enough in that moment about his admiration, his gratitude to her.

Pepper pulled him into a quick kiss. “Don’t give me too much credit,” she whispered. “I had to promise her cake at dinner too.”

“She was going to get that anyway,” Tony said, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, but _she_ doesn’t know that.”

They shared a quiet laugh, and a meaningful look as they both went serious when Morgan eyed them suspiciously.

—

A short while after, F.R.I.D.A.Y informed him Peter had woken up, but he didn’t come down until almost dinner time, while Tony was relaxing with some engineering schematics in the front porch with Morgan next to him playing with some new dinosaur figures and a zombie doll. The cooking noises coming from the kitchen that reached him through the open window were combined with the murmur of conversation.

Tony hadn’t quite realised the tension that had settled on his shoulders until it eased somewhat when Pepper called him and Morgan in for dinner and he saw Peter, looking a bit wan, but cheerful enough. He smiled when Tony ruffled his hair in greeting, and devoured three grilled cheese sandwiches and a big bowl of tomato soup without needing any encouragement—which seemed like a good sign.

“Best. Day. Ever!” Morgan declared when Tony brought the last of the cake out of the fridge for dessert.

Peter laughed when Morgan dug straight into the leftover piece the moment he handed her a spoon. 

“Hey, Madame, the cake is for you _and_ Peter,” Tony reminded her gently before she could make a bigger dent.

“Oh, no, that’s alright!” Shooting him a vaguely alarmed look, Peter shook his head, and nudged the plate toward Morgan. “You eat it, Mo. It’s your birthday, and your birthday cake.”

“It would still be very nice of her to share, hm?” Pepper said in a suggestive tone, tucking a bit of hair behind Morgan’s ear. 

Licking traces of frosting off the spoon, Morgan shook her off, a small line between her eyebrows.

“Honestly, it’s fine, Miss Potts.” Peter sent Tony a pleading look, rubbing his palms and pulling at his fingers. “Mr Stark, seriously. I don’t even know if I’ll like it. And there were some cupcakes with sprinkles left over, right? I can just have one of those. I’m sure they’re good.” 

Tony noticed how Morgan tracked Peter’s nervous fidgeting, a thoughtful purse to her mouth. She didn’t comment, though, to his relief. He needed to prepare for that conversation. “You didn’t have any cake at the party?” she asked Peter instead. 

“Um, no. I wasn’t very hungry then,” he replied. “But it’s OK, Mo—”

Morgan shook her head, and dug out a generous spoonful which she held out to Peter. “Here.” She didn’t admit a negative for an answer, waving the spoon at him impatiently. “You _have_ to try it. It’s my birthday, you have to do what I want.”

That drew a small laugh out of Peter. “OK,” he said, taking the spoon. “Thank you, Maguna.”

Pepper caught Tony’s eye then: she gave a minute tilt of her head toward, a faint, soft smile playing about her lips. 

Tony knocked their ankles together under the table in response, not bothering to hold back his own smile.

“Well?” Morgan demanded. 

“It’s good,” Peter answered, cheeks still bulging with cake.

She sniffed, nose upturned. “It’s _the best._ ” 

“Uh—”

“The only acceptable answer to best cake ever is… ” Tony interjected, teasing. “Double coffee chocolate with chocolate fudge frosting. And since neither of you have tried it, you’ll have to take my word for it. I win. Discussion over.”

Both of them stared at him, mouths agape. The mix of shock and indignation and amusement on their faces made him laugh, and warmth bloomed in his chest as Morgan started to argue and Peter tried to reason amid giggles. 

“Pep?” Tony turned to her, grinning.

She made a face, even as her eyes shone with mirth. “You’re way off—The best cake ever is coconut with lemon cream.”

—

Predictably Morgan didn’t make it through the movie they put on after dinner, running out of energy at last after a long and exciting day. It came as no surprise either when Peter headed up to bed soon after, though it was far from his usual Saturday night bedtime.  Tony was feeling pretty knackered himself. Pepper, on the other hand, as usual, seemed as composed and able to hold up against anything as ever. 

Peter was already settled in bed when Tony headed upstairs to check on him and say goodnight. 

“Everything OK, Spider-baby?” he asked. 

“Yeah. Just texting May goodnight,” Peter replied. Finishing up, he set his phone down on the bedside table and shifted to rest on his side, propped on one elbow.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, Tony combed his hair back from his forehead, running his fingers through his curls. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, thanks. Just a bit tired.”

“I bet,” Tony said with a quiet chuckle. “It’s been a long day. You know how rare it is for Morgan to fall asleep through a movie—she will literally hold her eyelids open like some Clockwork Orange shi—shenanigans.”

Peter laughed. “Miss Potts says she gets it from you.”

“She’s probably right,” Tony sighed, eliciting a giggle from Peter. Overflowing with fondness, he thumbed at his left eyebrow, where the hairs grew out wild. He was so glad Peter was in his life. It was hard to find the words, even though it had got easier to communicate with the years. “Morning lab session sound good?” 

Peter’s eyes widened in excitement. “That would be awesome. I was thinking we could try…”

All it took was fifteen minutes discussing chemical engineering for Peter to lose any lingering tension. Smiling, he played with Tony’s watch on his wrist, even holding onto his fingers as he made a point. 

Tony remembered the first time Morgan had grabbed his finger in her own tiny hand, and the first time she took his hand and held it. Although he hadn’t got to know Peter as an infant or a young child, it brought the same feelings now, the same impossible warmth in his chest.

“We’ll trial it tomorrow,” Tony promised easily. “But first, sleep. Pepper has the coffee rationed, you know.”

With a giggle, Peter lay back against the pillows— Tony noticed the BB-8 plush hidden under one of them. “You mean your breakfast smoothies aren’t enough?” 

“Not in any way, shape, or form,” Tony deadpanned, tousling his hair. “So we better go to sleep. Love you, kid.”

He faltered for a second—the words had slipped out. It wasn’t the first time he had said those words to Peter, but it had been _a moment_ every time before, a conscious decision to work through all his personal issues to communicate.

Peter broke into a shy, delighted smile. “I love you too,” he said, round eyed and so painfully earnest it made Tony’s chest hurt.

Tony reached out to rest a hand on his head for a second before switching off the bedside lamp. “Night night, Spider-baby.” he whispered, teasing. 

Peter’s smile didn’t falter even as he rolled his eyes.

As he was about to close the door behind him, however, Peter called out: “Tony?” 

“Yeah?”

Duvet under his chin, Peter blinked at him in the gloom. “Are you… are you going to tell Morgan?”

Tony went over to him and sat down again without hesitation. “We won’t tell her anything you don’t feel comfortable with, Underoos. But I think it might be a good idea to… have a little talk with her.” 

“What if—” 

“What if…?” Tony prompted when Peter fell silent, eyes downcast.

“It’s just… kind of scary.” Snuffling, he rubbed at one eye in a would-be nonchalant gesture. “Her friend, Elena… asked what was wrong with me. Not… not what was wrong, just what was wrong with _me._ ”

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Peter raised suspiciously bright eyes to Tony.“What if Morgan thinks there is? What if she—” He broke off with a stuttering inhalation.

“Pete. I can’t promise Morgan won’t… do any of the things you’re scared she’ll do, because she’s seven, and kids are weird and stupid and unpredictable. But if she does, we’ll work on it, OK? Pepper and I.”

“I don’t want to be _more_ work,” he mumbled dejectedly, squeezing his eyes shut in an obvious attempt to contain tears. 

“Kiddo, that’s what you sign up for when you have a kid—or two—” Peter’s eyes snapped open, wide and glistening. “A whole lot of work,” Tony continued, grinning as he poked him in the side over the covers. “Never ending work.”

A wavering smile spread across his face. “What were you thinking?”

“I have no idea.” Tony combed a hand through Peter’s curls, then bent down to kiss his forehead. “But it’s the best thing I’ve ever done in my life,” he said honestly, cradling his face with one hand.

Peter turned his face into Tony’s palm, eyes slipping shut for a second. ‘Tony’ was all he said.

Tony leaned in for a long hug. 

After a short theoretical discussion on the differences between BB-8 and R2D2 to come down from the overload of emotion—and a last forehead kiss—Tony headed over to the master bedroom.  He caught the sounds of Pepper getting ready for bed from outside the door, and opened it to find her showered and in her pyjamas, plumping up the pillows.

Theatrically, Tony walked over and let himself fall back onto the end of the bed with a groan.

Pepper paused, looking down at him with raised eyebrows and an unimpressed expression. When Tony groaned again, she couldn’t back her laughter. Laying alongside next to him, she reached out to run a hand through his hair. “Did you put the kids to bed?”

“Mhm.” He strained his neck to glance at the clock on the bedside table: it was barely eleven. “It’s been… a very long day.”

“Yes, it has.” She leaned in to press a lingering kiss to his cheek. “But you’re doing amazing, sweetie,” she said, a playful lilt to her voice.

Tony looked up at her with an amused snort, but quickly sobered. “Do you really think so?” 

“Yes, baby.”

“I made a mistake, not talking to Peter about his autism,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Turns out that was stressing him out like crazy. We still have a lot of talking to do...”

Pepper didn’t ask for him to elaborate, no doubt piecing together past bits of conversations and comments with the day’s events. “We all make mistakes, Tony. This isn’t an exact science.”

“Parenthood?” Tony hazarded in a low voice. 

She caressed his face, thumbing under his bottom lip. “Mhm.”

“I was always so scared. I don’t…” His jaw clenched despite Pepper’s gentle, understanding touch—this was a conversation they _had_ had before, more than once. “I don’t want to be like my dad.” 

“You’re not,” she replied firmly. “Those kids— _your_ kids—adore you, and they know how much you love them.”

Tony raised himself up on his elbows. “I’d do anything for them, Pep. They’re my—you and the kids, you know you’re my everything,” he said fervently, honestly.

Pepper’s eyes were impossibly soft as she leant in to kiss him. “I know. You’re a good man, a good father, a good husband. Do you have any idea how much I love you, you impossible man?”

“Miss Potts, I wouldn’t be anything without you.”

Pepper hummed, scratching at the stubble along his jaw. “I think I’ll take about 12% of the credit.”

Tony chuckled, reaching out to sweep her hair over her shoulder, stroking the soft skin of her neck. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

“Nope.”

The next day would surely bring its own set of challenges, but Tony had never felt so at peace, never imagined it was possible for him to feel like this, complete with his family in a way he never had before. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore how Peter fit into the Stark family, taking into account his autism. 
> 
> It kind of got away from me in word count, as usual. I hope someone might enjoy it! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos or a comment on my other fics; they really mean more than I can ever say. 
> 
> -
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://aminorupgrade.tumblr.com/), please come talk irondad and autistic Peter Parker with me, or send a prompt even, maybe?


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